


Pygmalion

by diathlu



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Museums, Art, Blind Character, Blindness, Curator Ben, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Museums, Rey has no sense of personal space, Sculpture, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Soft Ben Solo, blind rey, sculptor Rey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-17 10:50:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17558972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diathlu/pseuds/diathlu
Summary: Ben can’t imagine what it would be like to have his life suddenly, and irreparably thrust into darkness, having to feel and hear his way through everything. The woman on the video he's pulled up, Rey Doe, is speaking about her blindness like it’s agift.





	Pygmalion

**Author's Note:**

> Oops another new fic. What are you gonna do? Props if you know what the title is referring to. <3

Ben can’t imagine what it would be like to have his life suddenly, and irreparably thrust into darkness, having to feel and hear his way through everything. Even worse, his sense of sight slowly deteriorating. One day, everything is perfectly clear, but as time goes on surroundings beginning to blur and melt away, until he’s left abandoned to an inky abyss. The woman on the video he's pulled up, Rey Doe, is speaking about her blindness like it’s a  _ gift _ , hands flying around wildly as she goes on about her childhood and how being forced to work in her guardian’s garage until she was absolutely unable to see helped to heighten her sense of feel.

Balanced upon her lap, a sculpture of an elderly man’s head, where eventually those gesticulating hands hands flutter to a stop. She turns him to face the camera and it zooms in, showing how every strand of hair, each wrinkle and bump and rise has been perfectly captured only by the use of her fingers, her uneven nails. It’s as if that old man is looking right at Ben, only his eyelids are shut, lashes resting against his sagging cheeks.

One week later, he’s sanding just inside the entrance of the museum where he works, watching as Rey Doe ascends the stairs, guided by a dark-skinned man. They’re chatting animatedly and Ben gets the feeling that they’re more friends than renowned-artist-and-bodyguard. The young woman is going to be having an exhibit here for the month, and he’d been doing a bit of personal research on the sculptor. Despite her lack of sight, she has an uncanny ability to capture the human façade, although she’s rumoured to be picky about who she sculpts.

“We’re good.” The man accompanying her says once they step inside the front hall, and both come to an immediate halt. Ben stares for a moment, before realising that he should probably announce himself first.

“Good morning, Miss Doe. Thank you for coming.” He speaks up, probably a little too loudly.  _ Dammit, Ben,  _ he cringes,  _ she’s blind, not deaf. _

“Oh, Mister Solo!” Rey’s gaze snaps towards him, eyes not perfectly focused, but grin bright nonetheless. “Thank  _ you _ for being here.” She releases her guide’s arm and sticks out a hand.

“Of course, it’s my job.” As a curator, he feels it’s only right to greet new artists. They’re the ones making him money; all he does is provide the wall space. Reaching out, he wraps his paw around hers. The woman has a surprisingly firm grip.

“Nice hands. Very warm, and big.” She compliments as if it’s a regular, every-day thing to say. Ben goes  _ red _ , and her chauffeur snorts.  “This is Finn, he goes just about everywhere I go.” Rey introduces at the sound of his voice, releasing Ben’s hand and — gripping his wrist, travelling up his forearm until her digits are curled around the crook of his elbow. “But I imagine you know the museum by heart, so we’ll follow you.”  _ Oh _ , she wants a tour.

Normally, showing a guest around involves a lot of  _ if you look to your left you’ll see this _ and  _ if you look to your right you’ll see that _ , but Ben just barely manages to keep his mouth shut. In fact, he wonders if he’s being too quiet, and glances down at Rey whose eyes are forward but unfocused. Can she see at all, or is everything dark?

“I’m taking you to the hall where your work will be on display.” He finally explains, unnerved by the quiet as they walk along. It’s pretty much a straight-shot from the door, but still quite a ways back, passed all of the permanent exhibits, a couple of other travelling shows, and finally up a small flight of stairs, which he verbally warns Rey about last minute, before they reach the open space. There are empty podiums throughout, as well as empty, glass cases. Normally, the artist would have a say in how their work is displayed, but . . . Well, maybe she can feel around. Ben is sure that she knows what she wants.

“Echo-y.” Rey laughs, releasing his arm and finding her way to the nearest wall. “Do you mind?” She asks, pressing her palm against it.

“No, not at all. Go ahead.” Ben nods quickly, watches as Finn follows behind Rey at a safe distance while she traces the room with her fingertips. It’s so quiet that, if he listens close enough, he can hear her counting with each step underneath her breath. Has she been doing that the whole time?

After she’s outlined the area, even finding her way to each of the podiums inside the perminiters (with the help of her bodyguard and the walking stick attached at her hip), she returns to Ben with that same grin from earlier. He returns it, extremely half-heartedly, and more so for Finn’s sake than hers.

“Looks good.” Rey jokes with a wink that’s directed more at his chest than his face. “Just one more thing,” the woman takes a small step forward, a little too close for comfort, “I’d like to  _ meet _ you.” Huh?

“ _ Huh _ ?” What the hell is that supposed to mean? “I’m not sure what you —”

“She wants to touch your face, man.” Finn interjects, all too amused by the way Ben’s eyes widen.

“Sure, just —” cut off  _ again _ , by Rey this time.

“Great!” She reaches straight out, only to find her hands stopped by his brick wall of a chest. A soft  _ oh _ escapes her lips as her touch wanders upwards, fingers curling over his broad shoulders, his neck, and finally reaching the stubble on his jaw. Ben hopes to god she can’t  _ feel _ how hot his face is, and hates Finn for looking absolutely fucking  _ tickled  _ throughout the entire ordeal.

_ Asshole _ .

It doesn’t help that Ben has never been particularly confident in his looks — in fact, that’s one hell of an understatement. He’s not the type girls flock to, looks like a boardwalk caricature strolled right off of its page and into real life. The way her fingertips flutter over his lips and nose and  _ Jesus fucking Christ _ his ears only reinforce those feelings of self-loathing. His shoulders curl on on himself as he forces back the urge to turn away. It’d be goddamn ignorant to say that it shouldn’t matter because it’s not like she can see him, but he knows her work; Rey can see him perfectly fine.

Ben’s jaw quakes as her hands cup his face, and she finally releases him.

“Thank you.” She smiles, not as big and bright as before, and he stumbles back. Unsurprising, that a girl as beautiful as Rey would be unimpressed with his looks. It shouldn’t bother him, he tells himself that it  _ doesn’t _ , but it does. “I’ll be back tomorrow to help set up the exhibit?”

“Yes,” he manages, “Of course. I’ll be here.” And with that, they part ways, Finn walking next to the young artist, who softly counts her steps as she makes for the same entrance they’d come from.

**Author's Note:**

> On twitter @nsfwars.


End file.
